


Foolish Do It

by callmejude



Series: Only the Unlucky [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Breeding Kink, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Dirty Talk, Explicit Consent, Feminization, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Roleplay, Virginity Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 06:42:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20149348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: Their game is more complicated, the second time.





	Foolish Do It

**Author's Note:**

> Ask and you shall receive (sometimes)! A lot of people mentioned they wanted a continuation on Cat and Mouse and I have a crossdressing kink and Jon's a very pretty boy and I didn't feel FINISHED ANYWAY so yeah, here's the second half.

Sansa never notices her dress missing.

Or perhaps she does, but she never comes to Jon with her suspicions, and he’s sure she never corners Arya for it back, because Arya never questions him, either. Anyway, the dress most likely no longer fits her. She grows so fast. She probably was thinking of being rid of it, soon.

For near three months, Jon just keeps it hidden beneath his bed. Not looking at it, not touching it. To acknowledge it at all, well, that would be an admission of guilt. That it had affected him somehow. That he had liked it. Jon tries in vain to quell that suspicion inside himself, but in the end, curiosity tempts him. When he finally does acknowledge the rumpled green gown at all, it’s to pull it out and wear it only late at night, alone in his room. He looks at himself in his mirror, the way the skirts fall over his feet. Young Sansa is already so much taller than he is, the skirt reaches the floor. Jon has to hold the front up a bit when he walks to keep from tripping over it. 

Despite Theon’s mocking flirtations, Jon would rather die than let anyone else see him this way ever again. He does not want to admit it, even to himself, that Theon is the reason he keeps the dress, but he hears the hiss of Theon’s voice in his ear every time he puts it on, and that warm, shuddering feeling returns. _“You look quite pretty like this, Snow.”_

So he keeps the summer gown stuffed under his bed, wrapped in an old wool blanket so that no one can catch a glimmer of green silk, were they to enter his room. But sometimes, he’ll take it out, put it on, and sit on his bed, waiting for something. He’s not sure what.

He’s wearing it, alone one night, swaying in front of the mirror when he hears a knock at his door. Jon freezes and looks back at the door. He could pretend to be asleep. It’s perhaps late enough. He creeps toward his candle, burning low, and leans over to blow it out.

Before he can, Theon’s voice carries from the other side of the door. “I know you’re awake, Snow. I see your shadow skulking around.”

Jon’s heart stops in his chest, and he grabs for a fur pelt from his bed to cover himself, as if Theon can see him through the door. “Greyjoy?” He pulls the furs around his shoulders, covering himself as much as he can. “What’re you — what do you want?”

Oddly, the request is met with silence. “The maester sent me down to check on you,” returns Theon, after a moment. “You missed supper, he thinks you might’ve caught the cough little Bran had.”

Bran had come down with that cough about a fortnight back. He’s back on his feet by now, scaling the castle walls and playing with his siblings, but Jon had taken him his meals to tell him stories and keep him company enough times that Maester Luwin warned him that he could become ill himself. 

Stunned, frozen, Jon gapes at his reflection in the mirror, feeling like a fool at the pile of furs wrapped over him.

“Why haven’t you opened the door?” Theon asks, giving the door another quiet knock. “I’ve not even done anything horrible to you today.”

“I’m alright,” Jon tells him instead of answering, “tell the maester thank you, but I’m just not hungry.”

“What’s the matter,” Theon asks, rapping on the door again, louder this time. “Covered in boils? What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing,” Jon calls out, his voice a squeak. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“You’re hiding something.” Theon sounds gleeful. “I’ll get Robb if you don’t let me in.”

The only thing more mortifying than Theon seeing him like this a second time would be Robb seeing him like this at all. Jon clutches his furs close under his chin and goes to his door and opens it a crack.

“I’m not hiding anything,” Jon says, poking out his head. “Leave me alone, I’m just tired.”

“Sure looks as if you’re hiding something,” Theon mutters, pushing the door open to inspect Jon wrapped in wolfskins like a wilding. “Are you sure you aren’t sick? It’s nowhere near as cold as all that.”

Bold as anything, Theon reaches for the wolfskin at Jon’s shoulder to knock it away, but jerks back when Jon yelps, “Don’t!”

Narrowing his eyes, Theon hesitates before giving the furs in Jon’s arms a tug. Jon struggles to hold them tight, but he knows he’s failed when Theon’s eyes light up.

“Oh,” he says, his grin turning wolfish, “well, Snow, why didn’t you ever tell me how much you enjoyed our little game?”

“Don’t,” Jon repeats, voice trembling. “I — I only…” Tears prickle at his eyes. He can’t bear to look at Theon’s proud little smirk. “Sansa will be so furious to know. I only…”

“Only what?”

When Jon looks at him again, he’s surprised to see Theon isn’t smiling. His head is cocked to the side, quizzical. His sea green eyes are bright.

“Only like the feel of soft summer silk on your skin?” Theon asks, leaning closer. “Only liked the way the skirts flow at your feet? Only —” Theon leans heavy against the doorframe, a grin twitching on his lips now. Jon can feel a wave of heat roll off him, close as he is. “Only liked feeling pretty as a maiden, all dressed up like that?”

The air rushes from Jon’s lungs. What good is it to lie? Struck dumb, all he can manage is to nod.

Theon gives the door a little nudge. “Let me see, then,” Theon says, voice low. “Are you as pretty as I remember?”

“No, stop it,” Jon mumbles, fussing with the wolfskins around him. “I needn’t hear you mock me all over again. I know it’s —”

“I’m not,” Theon interrupts with a huff, pushing into Jon’s room before he can shut the door. “Let me see.” Shy, Jon takes a step back, chewing on his lip, but Theon keeps the distance short between them. “Come on, Snow. If you want I can rescue you again. Whisk you away to my chambers.”

That startles Jon enough that the furs slip from his arms. Heat crawls up from his throat until his whole face is burning. “I — what?”

The smile creeps across Theon’s face like that of a satisfied cat. Clinging to any shred of dignity under that scrutiny, Jon leans down to scoop his furs off the floor. Before he can reach for them, Theon’s hand snaps out and wraps around Jon’s wrist.

“It’s an awfully warm night, little princess,” Theon drawls, giving Jon’s wrist a teasing tug. “Surely you’ve no need to bundle up so tight, do you?”

Swallowing, Jon tries to rip his hand away, but Theon’s hold is tight. “Don’t tease me.”

“I thought you liked our little game,” Theon murmurs, jerking Jon forward hard enough that he stumbles into Theon’s chest. “Last time I saw you like this, you’d wanted me to rescue you, isn’t that right?”

Theon’s chest is so warm, and Jon can feel his heartbeat when pressed this close. 

“No,” Jon answers finally, and Theon blinks. “I hadn’t wanted — I told you Arya asked me to. It was her game. She was supposed to rescue me.”

“Aye, Arya was meant to,” Theon says with mocking seriousness as he tilts Jon’s chin back to look at him. Theon leans close, and his lips brush over Jon’s as he adds, “But was it what you wanted?”

Memory of the kiss they’d shared in the broken tower sparks along the ends of Jon’s skin, hot on his fingertips and at the ends of his hair. Jon had tried to banish all thought of that first kiss from his mind. His first, his first ever kiss, taken by Theon Greyjoy. But it had been futile. He can’t answer, gaping dumbly back at Theon as he waits, foolishly, for something he can’t name. A heavy swoop digs at the pit of Jon’s stomach. He swallows, and Theon reaches up to comb his fingers through Jon’s hair.

Jon takes a shuddering breath, and Theon’s satisfied grin churns something hot and vibrant in Jon’s chest. Theon had asked him something, Jon remembers, though he can’t quite recall what it was. 

“You do make just… _such_ a lovely little princess, Snow.”

“I do?”

The question leaving his own mouth takes Jon by surprise. He’s not sure why it thrills him to hear Theon say that. But Theon seems pleased that he did. Theon’s eyes are dark as they inspect him, rove over the dress pulled tight against his skin. Jon’s heart picks up speed, jumping into his throat. The scrutiny that he had dreaded was upon him, but instead of mortification and mockery, it brings him only excitement. His breath comes out in a short burst against Theon’s face as he struggles to think of something else to say.

Though before anything can come to mind, Theon’s mouth is on his, tasting him when Jon gasps against the feel of his tongue. Hands frame Jon’s face, holding him prone as Theon kisses the breath from him. Helpless, Jon can only melt against it.

When Theon breaks away, it’s only to pepper kisses down Jon’s throat, nipping gently just behind Jon’s ear with a soft growl of breath.

“Theon —”

“You’re so soft,” Theon grumbles, “so warm. Like you've never spent a day — in the harsh winter air.”

Jon blinks, feeling Theon’s hands grip hard at his skirts.

“Such a dainty thing,” Theon chuckles, and Jon yelps as Theon lifts him by his thighs from the flagstone. “Hardly weigh anything at all.”

“Put — put me down,” Jon orders, breathless as he clings to Theon’s tunic.

Theon smiles. “Oh? You seem to be enjoying this, Snow. Delicate thing that you are.”

Frightened of falling from Theon’s grip, Jon wraps his legs around Theon’s waist. Theon grins as Jon’s feet lock around his back.

“There you are, little princess,” Theon coos, “hold tight.”

It makes Jon lightheaded, though he’s not sure why. Theon shuffles Jon against his chest and leads him down into a kiss. The change in angle rushes through Jon’s body. He feels at once powerful and delicate, and his breath leaves him in a loud gasp against Theon’s mouth. He grabs fistfuls of Theon’s hair, holding him firm against the kiss. It feels like lightning and fog all at once, and Jon whimpers when Theon pulls away.

“You’re trembling.”

Theon sounds alarmed, as if it isn’t what he’s expecting. But Jon nods, forcing his eyes to focus on Theon’s face.

“I —” he starts, but words fail him a moment, and he takes a steadying breath. “Will — will you touch me?”

A smile twitches on Theon’s face, just for a moment. “Oh aye,” he says, “where?”

“Everywhere,” Jon gasps before he can hesitate. “Anywhere. I — I want…”

Dutifully, Theon waits for him to finish. Jon can’t, shame swallowing him. He looks away.

“What a sweet little maiden you are,” Theon tells him, placing another kiss on his neck. “I’ve barely touched you and you’re already a begging mess.”

“Please,” Jon whimpers, “I — I want…”

“Aye, it’s alright. You’re alright,” Theon purrs against him. “Gods, you’re shaking. You like this, do you?”

Sweat gathering at the back of Jon’s neck, he nods. Something hot is pressing on his chest, holding him steady. He feels it tingling in his fingers, and shifts against Theon’s waist, groaning. Silken, warm pressure strokes Jon’s naked cock at the movement, and he gasps, chasing the sensation.

Theon’s eyes go wide as Jon squirms in his arms. “I like this,” Jon assures, voice soft. “I like — like it.”

“I see that,” Theon answers. His voice comes out a little louder than it had a moment ago, words bursting short from his chest. The hands holding Jon up find his hips, holding him tighter against Theon’s body, testing.

Shameless, Jon ruts against him. It’s like fire burning him from the inside out. In the back of his mind, Jon knows he should be embarrassed by the display, but Theon only groans, one hand releases him, reaching to cup the back of Jon’s head, holding his ear close to Theon’s lips.

“You look so — pretty like this.” The touch of Theon’s calloused hand creeps under the silk of the gown, up along Jon’s thigh. “Such a proper lady.”

“Oh gods, Theon —”

The world tilts, and Jon’s back slams hard against his featherbed, creaking loudly under the combined sudden weight of the two of them. Theon rucks the skirt up around Jon’s waist, settling heavily between Jon’s legs. Still dressed, the scratch of wool of Theon’s breeches against Jon’s cock pulls a desperate shiver through his body.

“Feels good,” Jon admits helplessly, hoisting himself hard against Theon’s body. “I — I want more. Please.”

“Mm,” Theon huffs against Jon’s ear as he kicks out of his breeches, “such a sweet little thing you are. Never been denied anything, have you?”

Of course he has, but the idea of being denied this turns Jon wild, and he latches a hand in Theon’s hair and tugs. “No,” he keens, “no, please —”

Theon’s grin turns Jon alight, curling hot just under his navel. Theon’s tongue wets his lips and his eyes flick to Jon’s windowsill, snatching the tin of lantern oil from where it sits beside Jon’s lantern. “I suppose there’s no denying a princess what she wants, is there?”

Shy, Jon chews his lip. “What’re you — doing?”

“Giving the lady what she wants,” Theon answers in a heavy drawl.

Silently, Jon watches Theon dip his fingers in the tin and pull them back slick and glistening. He jolts a little when Theon reaches for him again, but Theon tuts and kisses his neck. Jon swallows, letting himself be swept back into the attention before a soft, cool touch alights between his legs. Jon yelps, twisting against the feeling, unsure if it’s good or not.

“Shh, be still,” Theon says quietly, the game gone from his voice, “you’ll like it, I promise you.”

Curious, Jon obeys, and Theon presses an oddly gentle kiss at the corner of his mouth. 

“There you are,” Theon coos.

The feeling of flesh pushing inside him causes Jon to cry out, body going tight and mouth falling open. There is pain, but not like he’d imagined. And the pleasurable burn in his body is compelling him to bear it out. Over him, Theon watches Jon’s face as if searching for something, hand moving with an absurd amount of gentleness. 

Just as Jon starts to gather the sense to speak, the pad of Theon’s finger rolls over a spot inside him that turns his stomach to water, and air leaves his mouth in a gulping rush. “Oh, Theon —”

Satisfied, Theon smirks and repeats the motion, clicking his tongue with a smug sort of pride when Jon moves against the touch without his full permission, desperate for it again, harder, more.

“_Theon —_”

Jon’s hips rock back against Theon’s hand, teeth clenched hard against a helpless sob caught in his throat. There’s been nothing like this before, not ever in Jon’s life, and he can’t bear its absence, now that he has felt it. 

“I _want_ it,” Jon babbles, half out of his mind in desperation, and Theon presses against him, nipping at the skin below Jon’s ear just enough to send Jon reeling.

“You certainly aren’t — _acting_ much like a proper lady, are you, Snow,” Theon purrs against his ear. Shame twists hot with arousal in Jon’s stomach and bubbles out of him in a breathless laugh. “Don’t think your lord father would be pleased to learn what a little whore you are.”

It causes Jon’s heart to pick up in his chest, turning him dizzy and warm. Theon sounds different, like this, playing this game. Jon likes the sound of him, the feel of Theon trembling as he pushes his fingers deeper inside him.

“Please —” Jon whispers, feeding into the pleasure that sweeps through his stomach. “Please don’t tell my father.”

Saying it burns hot under Jon’s skin. It’s true, of course. The idea of his lord father learning of this drops like a stone in his stomach, but the words buzz under his skin like wine. It’s true, but it isn’t why Jon says it. He says it for Theon. Knows, somehow, that it’s what Theon wants to hear. Theon drags his nails along the inside of Jon’s thigh, twisting a handful of the silk in his fist as his other hand works steady inside him. Jon feels as if he’s turning to water.

“No? I suppose I shouldn’t. He’ll never be rid of you without your virtue intact,” Theon whispers, breath soft against Jon’s ear. Jon’s eyes slide shut with a sigh, heart fluttering in his chest. Theon releases Jon’s skirts to brush the fingers of his free hand light over Jon’s cheek. “Well, I suppose this will have to be our little secret, won’t it, my lady?”

A moan falls from Jon’s mouth, warmth swallowing him whole. He likes that. Being Theon’s lady. He nods, breathless, and tries, “Y — yes.”

There’s a hand in Jon’s hair then, clenches tight as Theon lets out a staggered breath against Jon’s throat. His other hand is working furiously now, sparking hot and sharp along Jon’s spine.

“And am I meant to believe you’ve let no one touch you before now? You spread your legs so easily for me.”

“No,” Jon breathes, dizzy with the possession in Theon’s voice. “There’s been no one else. No — no one has shown an interest, before.” Playing further into the fantasy Jon adds, “I’m not allowed — not allowed to go courting men alone.”

The noise Theon makes is sharp and high, startled out of him and Jon feels a sting of triumph.

“I can see why,” Theon groans into Jon’s jaw. “If this is what happens the moment you find a decent cock to stick inside you.”

The air is so close, thick and smothering, and Jon’s thoughts fade to nothing. “Yes,” he whispers, “yes, please —”

Theon groans, teeth grazing against Jon’s skin. “You ask so sweetly, my lady,” Theon sighs breathlessly, “It’s no wonder you’ve — never been denied anything before.”

When Theon’s hand falls away, Jon groans, loud and helpless against the empty feeling suddenly enveloping him.

“Patience, my lady,” Theon shushes, shifting against Jon’s body as his hand slides over himself, “have patience. You’ll have everything you want.”

“Please, Theon,” Jon begs, hands reaching out for him, just to quell the need for touch. He feels wound tight as a bowstring, desperate, feral. “Please, don’t stop. Don’t…”

“Gods, you’re even more a sight this way,” Theon interrupts, “just look at you.”

Jon opens his mouth, but before he can manage to speak again he feels Theon’s cock breach him slowly, solid, and cries out against the searing edge of pain and pleasure singing over his skin. Blinded, Jon kicks his legs around Theon’s back, digging his heels in to move Theon closer, further, harder, more.

“Oh gods —”

It feels like power, fire boiling his insides and tearing him apart. Theon’s eyes are black as they find him, hand reaching out and pinning Jon’s wrist over his head. The lace digs into Jon’s flesh and he’s reminded of the broken tower, eyes rolling back at the overwhelming need of Theon’s skin against him.

“You look so pretty — laid out like this for me,” Theon growls, torn between sinking his teeth into Jon’s throat or pressing kisses to his skin. “Such an exquisite thing. Begging so sweet. I should have known you’d never been touched before, the way you — you yearn for it.”

Jon nods, curling as tight as he can against Theon as he snaps into Jon’s hips. 

“No one — else,” Jon repeats hoarsely, “I’ve — I’ve never…”

“I — know you’ve never,” Theon whispers, his pride churning hot in Jon’s stomach. “And now your — virtue is mine. Forever. Secret, perhaps but — you’ll know. When the — gentle young prince your father chooses takes you in your marriage bed, you’ll — only be able to think of me.”

The thought blazes in Jon’s skin and he feels his heart jump into his throat. He nods, unable to force words from his mouth. The room seems to spin. He can taste Theon on his tongue.

“Perhaps I’ll sneak into your chambers to take you apart after your lord husband has — failed to give you — what you need.”

Jon wants to speak, tries, but all that comes out is a gasp as he nods, the idea turning Jon utterly senseless. He’ll never have enough, he knows that now. Theon can never stop, if he’s to give Jon what he needs. His skin is on fire, but he’ll not be satisfied until he’s burned away to ash.

Theon seems to understand, fucking into Jon hard enough that his words come out barely audible gasps in the heavy air of the room. 

“Gods, you love it, don’t you? Defiled this way. You would have — never been satisfied, losing your virtue on — your wedding night. Surprised you didn’t — beg me to fuck you in the stables, strewn about in the hay.” His eyes are wide, black and wild, and Jon is pinned by him. “Look so prim and proper but — such a — filthy thing, really.”

Jon feels tears spring at his eyes. Shame and arousal are so interwoven now he can’t tell the difference between them, even as they surge together and leave Jon’s mouth in a breathless sob.

One hand sweetly cupping Jon’s face, Theon continues, “Pity I can’t fuck you full of bastards for you to —”

Pleasure screams so hot against Jon’s spine that his body jerks against it, head thrown back as Jon scrambles for purchase against Theon, tangling hands in his hair. Jon isn’t aware of the silence that follows until it breaks, Theon’s voice suddenly too loud as it shatters the quiet of the room.

“Oh.”

As Jon gets control of himself, heartbeat thrumming in his ears, Theon leans close. When their eyes meet, Theon’s are sharp and knowing.

“_Oh._”

“I — I’m sorry —” Jon starts, not sure why he’s apologizing, but Theon presses fully against him, the hand still pinning his wrist clenching tighter as he tisks gently.

“No, no apologies necessary, my lady,” he whispers, voice silkier than the skirt pushed up around Jon’s hips. Theon thrusts into him again with renewed force, causing bursts of light behind Jon’s eyes. “Is that what you want, then? To be bred like a bitch?”

It’s grotesque, how he says it, but it’s lightning under Jon’s skin. Utterly helpless, he whimpers, nodding. His vision is spotty, and Theon’s face swims in and out of focus as Jon catches his breath against the spike of need. 

“You’d be such a good mother to my sons,” Theon hisses, and it slips into Jon’s blood like boiling wine. “Perhaps I’d make you a saltwife, if you give me enough of them.”

Jon nods again, rutting back against Theon’s cock. Theon’s hand cups his face and Jon struggles to focus on the look of him, eyes bright and hair wild as he moves like a crashing wave against Jon’s body. 

“Aye, there’d be no help for you — with the first, though. No reason to bother if you’ll — only give me girls. You know that, I’m sure. All of them gawking at you as you — putter around swollen with my bastard. Gods, your father wouldn’t even stand to look at you. Starks shamed by you twice over.”

It shouldn’t shoot through him as it does, a white hot lance of pleasure from his heels to his skull. His body ruts hard into Theon’s thrusts.

“_Yes,_” Jon groans mindlessly.

“I won’t tell a soul, of course,” Theon coos, nuzzling against Jon’s throat. His breath is damp and heavy against Jon’s skin, and Jon scrambles and surges against Theon’s chest. “Already swore it’d be our secret, after all. No one — no one would know the little brat’s father but you and I.”

The words split him open too, tear him apart like claws — drenching the gentle silk dress in his filthy bastard blood. Theon stares as if he can see every part of him, inside out, and Jon is mesmerized, captivated.

Theon seems to have lost control of himself, babbling on with his hands clenched in Jon’s hair. “Gods, you’d be so — helpless,” he gasps, fucking so hard into Jon that he can hear the bed scrape and rock into the wall. “The moment you bore the damned thing I’d just put another in you. Keep — keep you that way. ‘Til you made me — a thousand sons.”

“Oh, please,” Jon begs, desperation turning his throat tight as he claws at Theon’s chest. He feels as if his skin will break open at the seams. He’s never wanted anything more than what Theon is saying, kept delicate and prone on his back as he gives Theon all the princes he desires, swollen again and again with child like a broodmare. “Please, I want — want it —”

Abruptly, Jon comes untouched, wet heat landing on the bodice of the dress as his body is wrung dry, every muscle pulling tense until he can feel Theon scream, slamming into Jon without any rhythm until heat explodes up Jon’s spine. With a groan, Theon sags against him, and Jon feels a sob at the back of his throat. He does not know if it’s humiliation or a different, more cloying ache, that settles in his bones as the euphoria fades.

Theon does not seem to notice, warm and heavy. He rolls off of Jon with a loud sigh and instead pulls him to his chest, nuzzling his face into Jon’s sweat-soaked curls. Jon looks down at himself and the haze leaves him as he surveys the state of the dress. It’s ruined, stained and sodden. Jon feels abruptly foolish, to have ever put it on at all.

He no longer feels pretty or soft or all the things Theon called him. His throat tight, Jon swallows. He feels disgusting.

“I’m filthy,” Jon whispers, his voice so hoarse and quiet he’s not sure Theon can hear him. Why is it so much effort suddenly, not to cry? “I’ve — got to wash.”

Theon only grunts and holds Jon tighter. “Wait,” he sighs, sounding already half asleep, “like it.”

The sting in Jon’s chest fades a little, and he shifts to look Theon in the face. His eyes are shut, but he must still be listening.

Jon clears his throat. Tears are still itching at the corners of his eyes. “Theon?”

“Mn?”

“I’ll —” he chokes on the thought, “I’ll not make you any sons.”

Surprisingly, Theon snorts. He doesn’t even move when he grumbles against Jon’s shoulder, “Well, no one has, yet.”

Jon stares at him. It’s not the answer Jon expected of him, instead something mocking or pointed, about how obvious it is. Does he not want to be cruel now? When Jon looks back down at himself, he smiles. The dress is still ruined, but Theon likes it like this, too. He smoothes the skirt back down over his legs and chews on his lip, letting his mind wander. Theon’s teasing in the broken tower hadn’t been cruel then, either. Not after the beginning.

“Theon?” Jon asks again.

It’s a long breath, this time, before Theon grunts.

“Will you stay with me?”

One of Theon’s eyes drift open, inspecting Jon’s face a moment. He doesn’t say anything right away, and yawns before flopping onto his back. His arm still stretches over to reach across Jon’s side.

“Not very prince-like of me to leave, I suppose.”

It’s a strange thing to say, because it isn’t true. Jon knows it isn’t. Theon isn’t a southern prince like all the stories. He’s ironborn. They pillage and abandon as they wish. Jon stares at him, hand idly fussing with the waist of the skirt. He wonders if perhaps Theon has forgotten. For a moment, he contemplates reminding him, but that will end badly.

Before Jon can say anything at all, Theon grumbles, “Least you can do is get your damned furs off the floor.”

Like a bolt of lightning, Jon bursts from the bed and hefts the wolf pelts into his arms, tossing them over Theon’s outstretched body before crawling back into bed. Theon doesn’t say anything, but Jon doesn’t need him to. Before he can think better of it, Jon leans forward and kisses Theon’s cheek.

Theon’s only response is a snore.

**Author's Note:**

> title from "Let's Fall in Love" by Mother Mother
> 
> (I switched the title of the second and third part because I hadn't EXPECTED TO WRITE a third part but here we are)


End file.
